


The Cat that Stole the Cream

by thewritingkoala



Series: Tom & Amy (series of one-shots) [1]
Category: British Actor RPF, Tom Hiddleston - Fandom
Genre: Cats, Eventual Smut, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Mild Smut, Photo Shoots, Shameless Smut, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-24
Updated: 2016-12-24
Packaged: 2018-09-11 16:22:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,853
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8998042
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thewritingkoala/pseuds/thewritingkoala
Summary: When Amy brings her cat to a photo shoot, she meets Tom Hiddleston under rather catastrophic circumstances. Luckily for Amy, he falls for her cat as much as for her.





	

**Author's Note:**

> This is the prequel to "Not on the Kitchen Counter", inspired by a photo shoot Tom did (pics here: http://www.shortlist.com/entertainment/films/tom-hiddleston-and-one-seriously-cool-cat).
> 
> You can read the sequel [here](http://archiveofourown.org/works/8224871)

What could be worse than walk-running five blocks through the drizzle with a pissed-off cat in a crate, caterwauling like the world is ending?  
Realizing that said grumpy tomcat of doom has just escaped its crate to streak through a house filled with the who’s who of acting and singing.  
Muttering expletives, Amy followed the sight of a banded tail rounding a corner, keeping her head down so she didn’t have to face the curious and annoyed stares from those going about their oh-so important job.  
Why the hell had she agreed to bring her four-legged Casanova to Carrie’s company for a photo shoot today?  
Because she was a bloody loyal friend, that was why. Okay, and the promise of chocolate cupcakes might have been an added motivation.  
Still, not even gooey goodness might be worth this.  
Amy switched to a slow jog, refusing to consider how ridiculous she must be looking in her semi-casual outfit among all the glitzy stars and ditzy staff, power-walking after an elusive feline by the name of Sir Lancelot.  
“Come back this very moment, you spoiled brat,” she half-yelled when her cat decided it was a good idea to wind around the legs of a waitress carrying food for God knew which Hollywood star, nearly tripping the woman in the process.  
“Sorry. I’m so sorry,” she called out to the shocked faces around her, narrowly avoiding running head-first into a light technician with expensive equipment. “He’s usually the darling apple of my eye, I swear.”  
“And a royal pain in my butt,” she added under her breath, lunging for her escapist cat for the third time—and missing for the third time.  
Sir Lancelot was a treasure on good days—affectionate, elegant, intelligent—and hell on most other days. Sure, she loved him, but right now, she’d happily march out of this goddamn building and forget she owned a cat with a personality rivaling the divas currently giving it the stink-eye.  
“Hah, now I’ve got you,” she muttered triumphantly when she saw Sir Lancelot head-butt a room door that had only been closed loosely, sneaking in.  
Amy waited for a moment, catching her breath and hoping her cat would think himself safe and stay in whatever room he’d sniffed out. She should never have let him out of his crate, but what the hell was she supposed to do when he sounded like a gastric opera singer murdering a famous aria?  
With a deep breath, she pushed the door open wider and walked in. “I swear if you ever do that again, I’m going to skin you alive and turn you into a fur stole, you…”  
Her last words were cut off abruptly when her eyes fell on a half-naked man in the middle of the room, staring at her as if he’d seen a ghost.  
Jesus freaking Christ in a cat bed.  
This wasn’t just any man she’d walked in on.  
This was Tom effing Hiddleston, Tumblr boyfriend, everyone’s favorite Night Manager, and the man of her—rather steamy—dreams.  
Yup, Tom Hiddleston. With a bare chest, clutching a pale blue button-down shirt in one hand and looking as if he’d just witnessed an alien invasion.  
Shit. Shit, shit, shit.  
Amy knew she was gaping, frozen on the spot with her mouth open wide and her eyes even wider, but she couldn’t for the love of her not stare at him. What woman in her right mind would not ogle him when he was all mile-long legs in all but painted-on trousers, ribbed abs with a tantalizing happy trail, and hair mussed as if she’d caught him getting out of bed.  
Oh no, bad idea, thinking of Tom and bed in one sentence.  
What the hell was she even doing here, staring at him like this instead of hightailing it back home and hiding in mortification for the rest of her life?  
Tom pulled himself together first. That infuriating eyebrow rose on his high forehead, and the beginning of a grin pulled at his thin lips. “I have no idea what I did to bring your wrath upon me, but I assure you I’d make a very bad stole.”  
She was royally fucked.  
Amy clamped her mouth shut, but a helpless squeak had already escaped. She pressed her eyes shut—partly hoping it would darken out the image of half-naked Hiddles forever burned into her eyeballs, partly hoping she’d realize after opening her eyes that it had all been a dream. But when she opened them, Tom was still standing there shirtless, grinning with a mischievous twinkle in his oh-so blue eyes.  
Sir Lancelot chose this very moment to meow once, and both of them looked at him where he was perching next to two shiny, brown dress shoes as if guarding Tom’s prized possessions.  
“Hey there, little intruder,” Tom said softly, earning himself another meow, this one more confident as if the cat knew exactly it would not be punished.  
“I’m terribly sorry,” Amy blurted out, her brain cells finally deciding to put her out of her misery. “I was following my cat, he ran away and I really wanted to catch him and… I’m so sorry, I should have knocked or something.”  
Tom focused on her again, amusement lingering on his handsome face, but slowly replaced by something else. Was she imagining it or was he checking her out, gaze raking her body and making her feel as if he’d touched her with his hands and not only his eyes?  
Amy forced herself to not stare at his sculpted torso again, but she was fast losing the battle when instead of putting the bloody shirt on, Tom flung it carelessly onto a chair. She watched mesmerized as the muscles bunched and flexed with his movements when he slowly walked to where Sir Lancelot was sitting like innocence personified.  
“Is that right, buddy?” he asked the cat, his voice somehow becoming deeper and his tone almost a soft sing-sang, doing funny things to her belly and lower down. “Can’t blame you for escaping this circus,” he continued “I’m pretty overwhelmed myself and would like nothing more than to say ‘fuck it’ and bolt.”  
It was as if he’d completely forgotten her presence. Amy stared enraptured—wondering dimly why hearing Tom say “fuck” made her panties damp—as the tall actor all but folded himself in half to get closer to her cat. He squatted, and his trousers pulled taut over his perfect ass, riding down enough to reveal a sliver of white underwear.  
Amy swayed on the spot, resisting the urge to press her thighs together. Tom reached out slowly, and when Sir Lancelot didn’t run away, he patted his head tentatively.  
“I get you, bud,” Tom said in the same tone that made her want to turn into a cat. “But we can’t have you sneaking around here and getting in everyone’s way. And we most certainly can’t have you upsetting your beautiful mommy and getting her into trouble.”  
Amy blinked. Yup, this must be a dream. There was no way in the world that Tom freaking Hiddleston had just called her beautiful.  
“What’s his name?”  
It took her a moment to realize that Tom had asked her a question, and another moment to get her vocal chords to work. “Sir Lancelot.”  
She heard him chuckle softly, the sound doing nothing to help her befuddled mind and aroused lady bits.  
Tom made a tutting sound that was oddly erotic—well, what sound this man made was ever not erotic?—and chucked her cat under his chin. “My, my, a knight and all. That’s not very knightly behavior, though.”  
She could hear the critter purr all the way from where she was standing like some dumb fool. Traitor. But truth be told, she’d be purring her heart out too if Tom Hiddleston had his hands on her.  
Stop. It. Right. There.  
Amy took a deep breath and gave herself a mental kick. “I’m so sorry for disturbing you,” she said, walking closer to them. “Looks like my cat and I both have horrible manners.”  
Tom rose to his intimidating height, towering over her despite the high heels on her knee-length leather boots.  
“Oh, that’s alright. I’d much rather have a cat violate my privacy than a hysterical fan or paparazzi. Don’t worry about it, Miss…”  
“Amy,” she said, suddenly dying to hear her name on his lips.  
“Amy.” He half inclined his head, sending her one of his panty-melting smiles. “I’m Tom.”  
“I know.”  
Great. Marvelous. Just how she’d vowed she’d never behave if she ever met the one man who played such an important part in her life.  
This time, both brows rose. An odd expression flickered across his face before the smile was in place, having lost a hint of its friendliness. Did he think she was one of those hysterical fans, some of whom had been screaming their hearts out in front of the building?  
“I’m sorry,” she said for the umpteenth time, bending to grab her cat and make a run for it.  
Apparently, Sir Lancelot had decided he liked this room. Just when she had gotten within grabbing range, he darted to the side, meowed once and disappeared under a cupboard to the far left, standing against the wall.  
Oh, for fuck’s sake. Amy bit her lip so the curse wouldn’t tumble out.  
She heard Tom chuckle again behind her. With a long-suffering sigh, she walked over to the cupboard and tried unsuccessfully to get her cat to come out from under it with cajoling sweet talk. Sir Lancelot would have none of it, and she realized with rising panic that Tom probably had a million important things to do—like put that goddamn shirt on so she didn’t have the urge to touch his bare chest—and appointments to keep.  
To hell with it, she thought. Unceremoniously, she plopped onto her stomach, lying flat so she could sneak her arm under the cupboard and grab her cat, cornered as he was. She wriggled, inched forward as much as she could, and stretched her arm painfully. Still, she was about two inches away from touching Sir Lancelot, who had curled himself into a defiant ball.  
Belatedly, Amy realized that she was wearing a knee-length skirt which had ridden up with her movement, probably flashing her favorite actor a nice bit of panty and more than a handful of too round ass. Blushing beet-red, she twisted and looked back.  
Tom had averted his eyes like a gentleman, but there was a subtle rosiness on his chiseled cheeks that told her he must have snuck a peak.  
Fucking hell. Why couldn’t she just die now?  
“Bloody cat,” she muttered, climbing ungracefully to her feet and hating it that her fair skin flushed so easily. “He’s determined to have his way.”  
Tom looked at her again, his expression unreadable. “Let me give it a try, I think my arms are a bit longer.”  
Before she could say a word, he’d lain on the floor too. Amy stared at the enticing play of his muscles when he rooted around under the cupboard with one hand.  
“Careful, he might bite or scratch,” she warned belatedly, trying to think through the Hiddleston-induced haze.  
Tom made soft cooing sounds low in his throat that made her clit throb.  
“Gotcha.” Tom emerged with his fingers firmly embedded in the scruff on Sir Lancelot’s brown-and-grey neck. He twisted himself into a sitting position, and Amy leaned down to grab her cat. Their hands brushed, and she could swear the felt a bolt of current sizzle through her nerves.  
“Thank you so much, Tom.” Amy bit her lip, wondering what else she could say. “I know I’m repeating myself, but I’m terribly sorry for all the trouble.”  
He flashed her another smile, and only then did she realize how close they were, only inches apart. When she drew in a sharp breath, his scent hit her. Something lightly citrusy and very manly, mixed with the smell of freshly laundered clothes.  
Jesus. She needed to get out of here, pronto.  
Amy rose and took a few hasty steps back, cat cradled firmly against her chest. Tom also got to his feet, running a hand back through his hair and making her itch to do the same. There were some blonde streaks in it which caught the light and contrasted with the darker color of his few chest hairs and happy trail.  
Amy tore her eye away from the perfect V leading to the Promised Land.  
“I… I’ll just… I’ll see myself out then,” she said.  
Goddammit, she always prided herself on her sass, but being so close to Tom had turned her into an idiot.  
“It was nice meeting you…and your cat,” Tom said with another grin and a saucily lifted eyebrow.  
“Yes,” she mumbled stupidly, nearly stumbling over her own feet while backing out of the room.  
Shit. Shit, shit, shit.

* * *

Almost an hour later, Amy was waiting in a room alongside the photographer and her friend Carrie, who’d asked her to bring the cat along for a special photo shoot with some stars.  
She tapped her foot, soothing her rankled tomcat with rhythmic strokes. Their first session with a Hollywood starlet had been a disaster. The woman had screeched like a banshee, complained about cat hair on her Gucci dress, and handled Sir Lancelot as if he were a leper.  
Amy wondered who’d be next, and why the hell she was subjecting herself and her pet to this. She wouldn’t even be paid for this, dammit, unless you considered chocolate cupcakes as payment.  
The door opened, and in walked none other than Thomas William Hiddleston, panty-melter and cat-rescuer.  
For the second time today, Amy’s jaw dropped. Seriously? He was the star the photographer’s team had been getting ready for?  
She had barely closed her mouth when Tom had finished greeting everyone and was led over to her. The surprised look on his face would have been comical if she hadn’t been so mortified.  
“Hello again, Sir Lancelot,” Tom said, addressing her cat first and making her feel ridiculously jealous when he reached out to stroke a finger behind the animal’s ear. It brought them close again, tempting her with his scent.  
He smiled at her and nodded. “Amy, what a nice surprise.”  
She swallowed and smiled back, telling herself that she really needed to leave a better second impression. The fangirl inside her wanted to jump and down and scream. He’d remembered her name!  
“Hi, Tom. Looks like there’s no escaping my cat today.”  
“Who says I want to escape?” he said, waggling his eyebrows and stunning her into silence again.  
They were interrupted by the photographer calling out instructions.  
For the next hour, Amy was in a trance, and more sure than ever that she must be dreaming. There he was, her idol, dressed in a lovely textured dark-blue suit and a cuddly coat, with the tie’s knot undone and the shirt buttons straining not to pop. He handled Sir Lancelot with ease, even though she’d read somewhere that he was more of a dog person.  
The photographer asked Amy to help with some poses as she was best at reassuring her cat, so she was way too close to Tom. Once, she had to lift the cat so it perched on one broad shoulder, and the way they moved made her breasts push against his hard chest, her nipples hardening instantly beneath the red V-neck sweater. She felt Tom tense, his eyes darting down and his tongue wetting his lips.  
But his professional side won over, and Amy was so far gone by now she wasn’t even mortified anymore.  
More shots, agonizing to watch. Tom sat at a table, whisky glass on the counter, newspaper in one hand. His other hand was leisurely scratching and stroking Sir Lancelot’s neck, and Amy was pretty sure the expression of bliss on the cat’s face was what she’d look like if she were him. Purring unashamedly, her Casanova seemed to eat out of Tom’s hand during the next few shots.  
Lucky cat.  
Tom chucked his suit jacket for the next shots, and Amy watched mesmerized as the photographer told him to lie on the carpet and pose with the whisky, shooting him from odd angles. She was asked to drape the cat over his arms for one shot, and she was balanced so awkwardly that she toppled onto Tom’s lap.  
For a moment, she sat there frozen, straddling him and feeling a decided bulge twitch beneath her. Reflexively, Tom’s free hand had come up to steady her, and his fingers dug into her softly rounded hips.  
They stared at each other, neither of them breathing. She could see Tom’s pupils dilate, and her pulse skittered into overdrive.  
The next moment, the photographer came over to help her to her feet, and she blushed for the umpteenth time today and hurried away.  
Honestly, watching Tom with her cat was the best aphrodisiac ever. Those long fingers, strong yet delicate, caressing and controlling… Amy squirmed, crossing and uncrossing her legs—which only served to draw Tom’s stare whenever he was between poses, unfailingly finding her and fueling the fire.  
When the shoot was over, she was even more aware of the long gazes he sent her from across the room while the team rallied round him to talk and show him some snaps. Several times, Tom looked her way, as if he wanted to say something to her or will her to stay there until he had time for her.  
“I’m just imagining things,” she told herself resolutely and picked her cat up, contently licking himself on a cushion which smelled of Tom and tugged at her insides.  
“Amy. Thank God you made it here today.” Her friend Carrie rushed in, as always breathless and harried with her frizzy black hair standing up as if she’d touched a live wire.  
Before Amy could exchange another glance with Tom and store away another priceless memory, her friend hauled her away.  
Dammit, she hadn’t even asked him for an autograph or gotten two intelligent words of conversation in.

* * *

Half an eternity later, Amy walked out of the building with the crate in one hand and a box full of delicious cupcakes in the other.  
Lo and behold, the drizzle had turned to outright rain. Today really was out to get her.  
With a muttered expletive, Amy weighed her options. There was no way she was walking back home like this. Either she’d have to wait it out, or she’d have to hail a cab and brace herself for a cacophony of yowling, yodeling, scratching and snarling from her cab-allergic bastard of a cat.  
A sleek black car pulled up close, and the darkened window slid down.  
“Amy? Do you need a ride?”  
It took a moment for her to get her voice back. Was that really Tom Hiddleston asking her whether she needed a ride? She was half-tempted to say she definitely fancied to ride his Conda, but of course that wouldn’t do at all.  
“No, thank you, I’m alright. It’s very kind of you to offer, but please don’t trouble yourself.”  
Before she knew it, he’d opened the door and jogged the few feet through the rain to stand in front of her.  
“Seriously, do you have a way to get home?” he asked.  
With water droplets glinting on his long lashes and in his hair, he looked even more gorgeous.  
Amy licked her lips, and his gaze dropped to her mouth and lingered.  
“I…I’ll be fine,” she stuttered. There was no way she could hijack his half-limousine or whatever that car was.  
He clutched a hand to his chest as if she’d mortally wounded him. “Don’t deprive this gentleman of a chance to play the savior again, it’s what he lives for,” he said in a mock tragic tone, and she had to giggle.  
Sir Lancelot meowed and scratched at the door of the crate, and that seemed to be answer enough for Tom. He took the crate from her hand and jogged back towards the car, and she had no choice but to follow.  
They sat down at opposite ends of the backseat, the cradle on the floor. Tom asked her for her address and told the driver to stop there on the way, before pressing a button that made a screen pop up and close them off.  
Silence. Amy stole a sideways glance at Tom, who was rubbing his neck and throat and looked as nervous as she felt.  
Sir Lancelot started kicking up a fuss, but Tom leaned forward and placed one of his big hands on the crate. He clicked his tongue. “Hey, bud, don’t be a spoilsport. Sit tight so we can get your mommy home safe and dry.”  
With a last defiant meow, as if to prove a point, her cat shut up.  
Amy gaped and turned to Tom. “Are you a cat whisperer or something? How did you do that? If you ever get tired of acting, you’re definitely welcome at the shelter where I work.”  
He threw his head back and guffawed, his trademark ‘ehehehe’ doing funny things to the butterflies in her stomach.  
It helped to relax her. Slowly, Amy put the cardboard box down on the seat between them and shifted on the comfortable seat. She saw Tom glance at her legs, lingering on the black boots before he looked away with a slight flush on his cheeks.  
“Tell me more about you,” he said softly, one hand brushing rhythmically over his own thigh and entrancing her. “You work at an animal shelter?”  
For the next few minutes, they made small talk, discussing her job and then her favorite movies of his. Amy was surprised how at ease she felt now, and how silent Sir Lancelot stayed.  
The car stopped at a color light, rain pelting the windows and an amicable silence between them.  
Tom sniffed the air suddenly, eyes twinkling. “Tell me if I’m hallucinating, but I could swear I’m smelling chocolate.”  
Amy giggled. “You’re definitely not hallucinating.” On impulse—because who didn’t know how much of a pudding fan Tom was?—she opened the box and held it out to him.  
“My reward for bringing Sir Lancelot in today. Want one?”  
Tom had already reached out, eyes shiny, grinning like a small boy at Christmas, when he seemed to remember his manners.  
“Are you sure? I wouldn’t want to steal your hard-earned cupcakes.”  
She nudged the box closer. “Please go ahead. It’s the least I can do to thank you.”  
Tom grabbed one of the sweet offerings and bit into it, moaning softly at the back of his throat. Amy clenched her thighs together. Fuck, if he made sounds like this while eating sweets, how would he sound while eating her out?  
Inappropriate. Totally inappropriate.  
To keep her mind out of the gutter, Amy treated herself to a cupcake too. It really was sinfully tasty, making her bite back a moan of her own and not really succeeding. Tom’s gaze flickered over and held hers for a moment, the air between them charged all of a sudden.  
He devoured his treat in record time and remained glued to her mouth while she self-consciously ate hers. There was an odd grin on his happy face, possibly sugar-induced and really adorable.  
“You look like the cat that stole the cream,” she said, absently licking the last of the frosting from her lips.  
His face morphed from goofy post-pudding bliss to predatorily sexual in the blink of an eye. Leaning closer, he reached out and brushed the tip of his index finger over the corner of her mouth to catch a forgotten dollop of chocolate frosting.  
“Oh, I’m planning on stealing quite some cream today,” he said silkily, his voice dropping an octave and reminding her oddly of Loki. He held her gaze, sucking the tip of his finger into his mouth.  
Amy whimpered, not even ashamed of her powerful reaction to him, and his eyes grew darker.  
“I saw you watching me the whole time today,” Tom said, sliding closer on the seat.  
He licked his lips, lighting her insides on fire.  
“I saw you watching me too,” Amy replied, his change in behavior emboldening her.  
One eyebrow quirked, Tom put a hand on her leg, right on the small sliver of bare skin between the top of her boot and the hem of her denim skirt.  
“Well, after you flashed me so nicely, how could I not look?” he all but growled.  
Amy blushed, her teeth digging into her lower lip. He reached out with his other hand and tugged her lip free, brushing his thumb over the slickness and making her pant with just that small move.  
“I’ve been wanting to get my hands on that luscious ass of yours ever since,” he whispered, voice deep and low, traveling to all the right places. “It was torture going through the shoot with a semi hard-on. Torture imagining I was touching you and not your cat.”  
To hell with it, she told herself, she had only this chance and she’d use it.  
“Then how about showing me how well you can handle a different kind of pussy?” she asked, looking at him from under her lashes.  
With a groan, Tom was on her. His mouth claimed hers in a kiss that was anything but tender. Their tongues met and danced, exploring and teasing, giving and taking. One of his warm hands inched under her skirt and he grazed his nails lightly across the sensitive skin of her inner thighs. His other hand held her by the nape of her neck and angled her head for better access.  
He nipped at her lower lip, then slicked his tongue over it to soothe the sting.  
“Tom. Please.” Her words came out as moans, and he answered with a moan of his own.  
Somehow, he managed to move the box out of the way. The next thing she knew, he’d hauled her across the seat and onto his lap. Amy straddled him, knees resting on either side of his strong thighs, hands braced against his pecs.  
“What do you want?” he asked hoarsely.  
“Touch me,” she begged, and an instant later he drew her down for another toe-curling kiss.  
One hand pressed her lower body closer, radiating heat at the small of her back. The other brushed over her neck and lower to slip beneath her sweater and cup a breast. Tom kneaded it softly, then ran his thumb repeatedly over her hardened nipple while he lavished open-mouthed kisses all over her neck.  
Amy ground herself against him, fighting hard to keep the whimpers in. He gave her nipple a pinch, his hips instinctively flexing upwards to meet her gyrating movements.  
The next moment, he shifted, holding her upright with a firm grip on her waist while his right hand sneaked between her legs and under her skirt.  
“God, you’re so hot and wet,” he breathed against her throat as his fingers brushed lightly against her soaked panties.  
She bucked against him, moaning again when he licked the hollow of her throat and applied a little more pressure against her mound.  
“Please, Tom, please,” she urged him on. She had a sure feeling she’d climax from him touching her, she was so turned on right now.  
“I love to hear you beg me,” he rasped, biting down none too gently on the spot where her neck joined her shoulder, and making her yelp.  
His long fingers brushed her panties to the side, and then they slid through her slippery heat and made her writhe on his lap.  
“I can’t wait to taste you,” he whispered and kissed her roughly, thrusting his tongue far into her mouth at the same time he worked a finger into her. He swallowed her whimpers and added another finger, pumping in and out at a punishing speed.  
Amy wrenched her mouth free, panting as she felt her orgasm within reach.  
She clenched around his fingers, making his cock twitch and strain against her inside his trousers.  
“Fuck, Amy, you’re so sexy,” Tom growled, pulling back to stare at her.  
She whined, and he curled his fingers inside her, hitting a spot that had her suck in a breath and freeze. His lips curled in a slow, sexy grin, and then his thumb was on her clit without warning, circling and pressing just right.  
Amy collapsed forward against him and buried her face in the crook of his neck, panting through her climax and holding louder sounds in through sheer force of will.  
It took her a moment to come down from her high, only to find herself face to face with Tom pulling his fingers out of her and sucking them clean.  
Fuck. Just like that, she wanted him again, inside her, pounding into her until she forgot her own name.  
“It looks like we’ve reached our destination,” he said, his voice still husky and deep.  
Amy blinked, noticing that the car had stopped.  
A sudden look of shyness crept over Tom’s face. “Will you invite me in, Amy?”  
She hastened off his lap, trying to straighten her clothes. “For God’s sake, Tom, you just had two fingers in my dripping cunt and you have to ask that?”  
He laughed his ‘ehehe’ again and actually blushed, the adorable, insufferable fucker.  
“Sorry, the gentleman and the bad boy are always warring for attention inside me.”  
It was such a Tom thing to say.  
With a shake of her head, Amy held out her hand. “Well, come on up, I feel like meeting both of them. And there’s still some cream to be stolen.”  
Tom practically fell out of the car in his eagerness, but remembered to pay the driver and send him off. Crate and box cradled safely, they ran through the rain and up the stairs, where she unlocked the door.  
She barely had time to open the crate to free Sir Lancelot and set the box down on the sideboard before Tom pulled her into his arms and kissed her. She could taste herself on his tongue, and it ramped up her desire.  
Tom shoved her back against the door, devouring her with his mouth, his hands everywhere at once. He lifted her leg with a hand under her thigh and started grinding himself against her. Both of them groaned at the friction.  
“Bedroom,” she panted, and he set her leg down so she could lead him there.  
In record time, they removed their clothes, but before Tom could kiss her again, she put her hands flat on his chest and gave him a push. He fell onto the bed, landing on his back with his long legs sprawling.  
Amy climbed on top of him, feeling not the least bit self-conscious because he was staring at her naked body with open admiration, his eyes dark with desire.  
“I believe this is where we were interrupted,” she said, straddling him and rubbing herself against his impressive length. Steel wrapped in silk, his cock twitched against her, weeping a drop of precum. She dipped her finger in and licked it, and she felt Tom shudder beneath her.  
He sat up abruptly so they were chest to chest, kissing her and then growling dirty words into her ear while he dipped one hand into her folds again and sought out her clit.  
God, how she wanted him.  
Amy lifted her hips and reached between them, giving him two tight tugs that had him moan low in his throat. She aligned the tip and prepared to sink down on him, inch by torturous inch.  
He was massive, but she was so wet for him that he slid in easier than she’d have thought.  
They moaned in unison once she had sunk down on him completely. She started moving, and it felt better than anything ever had.  
She’d barely ground herself down on Tom more than five times when he held her still, fingers digging into her hips.  
“Let’s not forget about that cream I’m supposed to steal,” he said, flipping them over so she lay beneath him and pulling out.  
Amy wanted to protest, but when he slid lower with a devilish grin on his lips, the ability to speak went out the window.  
Tom moved further down, swirling his tongue around her belly button before licking a wet trail lower down. He nipped her inner thigh, making her tremble and grab his hair to steer him where she wanted him most.  
Using two fingers to spread her open, Tom began to lick at her, first softly and then in earnest. He alternated between flicking her clit and pressing his tongue inside her, and her second orgasm crashed over her like a tidal wave, making her scream his name.  
“That’s it, darling, let go for me. You’re so beautiful, and you taste so sweet.”  
Tom practically purred against her, drawing her bliss out with softer licks and kisses, rubbing his now slightly scruffy chin against her.  
Finally, finally, he moved back up, sucking a beaded nipple into his mouth and making her arch against him with another needy whimper.  
“Tired of me yet, love?” he asked, rubbing his hard length along her slit and gritting his teeth.  
Amy bucked against him. She grabbed his firm butt and dug her nails into his cheeks.  
“Get in and I’ll show you tired, Hiddleston,” she said, and he gave a half-strangled bark of laugh.  
“Oh, I landed myself a wild cat,” he murmured, and she dipped a finger between his ass cheeks to stroke him.  
With a groan and a shudder, he ground himself against her clit for one last time before moving back and ramming himself home with one long stroke.  
Amy shouted his name, feeling so full she thought she’d burst.  
“Oh God, Tom. Tom!”  
“Fuck, you’re so tight and perfect,” he hissed out, and then both of them stopped speaking and moved, racing each other to the finishing line.  
“Harder, faster,” she urged him on, feeling her third orgasm approach like a freight train.  
With a growl, Tom lifted her leg high and hitched it around his waist, sinking even deeper into her.  
He started pounding her into the mattress. “Cum for me, darling. I’m afraid I won’t last long. You feel so fucking good.”  
“Yes, yes, yes,” she chanted, and when he angled himself so he hit her G-spot on every stroke, she clenched tightly around him and let go.  
With a curse and a yell, Tom followed her along, pumping into her with erratic thrusts.  
He slumped on top of her for a moment, then moved his weight off her and cradled her close.  
His panting breath tickled her when he mumbled against her neck, “I think I need to buy your cat a treat for deciding to sneak into my room.”

You can read the sequel [here](http://archiveofourown.org/works/8224871)


End file.
